Have you bought yours yet?
Cage Against The Machine - the video
I love the bit where the guitarist re-tunes.
Excellent article on 4'33"
www.catm.co.uk
Friday, December 17, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Honouring Saint Cecilia
Last Saturday there was a huge concert in Avy, near Pons. One of my friends was playing in it, so of course I went along.
I got a bit lost and arrived later than I would wish to find that not only was the carpark full, but cars were parked all over the nearby roads! Lucky for me that I take my own seat, because the hall was packed and people were crammed in at the back. I was surprised there was no entry fee: even one euro from each of the hundreds of audience would have been quite a wodge.
When the players came onstage (or into space-at-front-of-stage) the size of the audience was partly explained: it was a combined effort from my friend's small Harmonie and two bigger Harmonies, from the music college in Jonzac and from Montendre. A very Big Band!
The three directors took turns conducting a brilliant programme of new works, jazz pieces, swing, and arrangements of film scores; I was most impressed when the cornet section opened Pirates of the Caribbean with the pirates' chorus, so well performed that it vividly recalled that slow march across the seabed. The last piece was announced as "Volare", which sounded like it would be a disappointing finish until they started playing an amazing jazzed version which got everyone clapping and moving (as much as possible in the crowd!).
Early in the concert the announcer introduced the youngest member (10 years old) and the oldest (89, a rather young-for-his-age euphonium player), and pointed out that making music is wonderful for getting all generations together. Yay!
Newspaper article before the event, with information
I got a bit lost and arrived later than I would wish to find that not only was the carpark full, but cars were parked all over the nearby roads! Lucky for me that I take my own seat, because the hall was packed and people were crammed in at the back. I was surprised there was no entry fee: even one euro from each of the hundreds of audience would have been quite a wodge.
When the players came onstage (or into space-at-front-of-stage) the size of the audience was partly explained: it was a combined effort from my friend's small Harmonie and two bigger Harmonies, from the music college in Jonzac and from Montendre. A very Big Band!
The three directors took turns conducting a brilliant programme of new works, jazz pieces, swing, and arrangements of film scores; I was most impressed when the cornet section opened Pirates of the Caribbean with the pirates' chorus, so well performed that it vividly recalled that slow march across the seabed. The last piece was announced as "Volare", which sounded like it would be a disappointing finish until they started playing an amazing jazzed version which got everyone clapping and moving (as much as possible in the crowd!).
Early in the concert the announcer introduced the youngest member (10 years old) and the oldest (89, a rather young-for-his-age euphonium player), and pointed out that making music is wonderful for getting all generations together. Yay!
Newspaper article before the event, with information
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Every reload gives a different forecast
What a lot of weather we've been having.
First, two weeks at the beginning of October turned up early for December, and brought with them some nights of frost. Next there were two weeks of warmish weather, followed by a week of warm dampness presumably ordered by the mosquitos, who were ecstatic.
Yesterday an electrical storm promised for July was finally delivered; last night the missing equinoctial gales arrived and the house almost achieved take-off[0].
At present rain is emptying the clouds so fast they can't refill. Sunlight strained through the waterfall makes a strange citrus yellowness.
[0] Fortunately not quite, because fluffy pink slippers don't have heels to click.
UPDATE: Suddenly the wind has dropped. Very suddenly. Did the Earth stop turning?
First, two weeks at the beginning of October turned up early for December, and brought with them some nights of frost. Next there were two weeks of warmish weather, followed by a week of warm dampness presumably ordered by the mosquitos, who were ecstatic.
Yesterday an electrical storm promised for July was finally delivered; last night the missing equinoctial gales arrived and the house almost achieved take-off[0].
At present rain is emptying the clouds so fast they can't refill. Sunlight strained through the waterfall makes a strange citrus yellowness.
[0] Fortunately not quite, because fluffy pink slippers don't have heels to click.
UPDATE: Suddenly the wind has dropped. Very suddenly. Did the Earth stop turning?
Friday, November 05, 2010
The Pilgrims' Way
On Saturday I went by Broomstick into the town; it was a lovely day, if a little windy for travelling by Broomstick. L'Association Culturelle Dizannaise was holding another event, on the topic of walking the Pilgrims' Way (the routes to Santiago de Compostella). I wasn't sure if it would be interesting for me (walking -> pain!), but one has to support one's local wossnames.
It was more than interesting, it was stunning. An exhibition of maps, photos, clothing, and reproductions of old pictures and documents covered the back of the Foyer Rural, and there were photo-slides to accompany the talks, making it vivid as we watched and listened to the walk unfold.
The main speaker was a charismatic type who had retired (early, I think) and decided to walk the Via Turonensis (the western route which runs through Tours). He liked it so much he did it again, with a few detours round alternative routes; on this second pilgrimage he took the Via Podiensis (the route from Puy which is a continuation of the routes from Switzerland). Then he wrote a book about it. You could tell how much he'd become absorbed by the culture of the Way as soon as he introduced himself: first name only, "because on the Way we don't use family names and formality". He addressed everyone in the "tu" form, as well.
He didn't appear to be religious, or at least not Christian (for example, he mentioned that he hadn't taken part in the pilgrims' communion), but the spirituality of the experience had taken him over. He talked of the companionship of those who walk the route, especially in the hostels of an evening, and also of the sense of aloneness in the rhythm of marching 25 kilometres a day in all kinds of weather. He described the feeling of being in buildings touched by other pilgrims over hundreds of years, where even the ruins hold echoes of their lives, and showed some of the little shrines to those who had died on the route. He also showed us the accoutrements: the hat and staff, the shoes, and of course the cockleshells, but also the document by which he had been sent on the pilgrimage. He repeated this, that a pilgrim doesn't choose to go, but is "sent". He spoke of the traditions of the pilgrimage, culminating in burning the clothes worn on the way to Compostella so that the pilgrim returns home lightened of the burden, and clean.
The other two speakers, who are locals, had each walked some of the Way but not yet fulfilled the conditions of a Pilgrimage. They spoke of their own experiences and their hope to complete it, and shared some of the events of last August, as 2010 was a special year for the pilgrimage. All three speakers are members of the official pilgrim of from Saintes which runs that website.
The Via Turonensis (Tours) is one of the world heritage walks; the main route runs through Saintes and Pons to Mirambeau. There is also an old route which goes through St Dizant to the ferry at Blaye and then across to Bordeaux via the Médoc. Charente Maritime's section of the Way has a particular style of marking the path with bornes. I foresee a summer project!
The chairman asked if I'd consider doing the route on Broomstick (the accepted modes of transport are foot, horse, or bicycle, so it's not necessary to walk, though I wonder how bikes and horses cope with some of the muddy mountain tracks in the photos).
The afternoon finished with drinks and Santiago cakes. One small regret: we didn't sing a pilgrimage song. Perhaps I should have taken along the songs from the Cantigas de Santa Maria, saved from one of the music workshops that Belinda Sykes tutored ahem years ago.
Descriptions of the gear of a mediaeval and a modern pilgrim
It was more than interesting, it was stunning. An exhibition of maps, photos, clothing, and reproductions of old pictures and documents covered the back of the Foyer Rural, and there were photo-slides to accompany the talks, making it vivid as we watched and listened to the walk unfold.
The main speaker was a charismatic type who had retired (early, I think) and decided to walk the Via Turonensis (the western route which runs through Tours). He liked it so much he did it again, with a few detours round alternative routes; on this second pilgrimage he took the Via Podiensis (the route from Puy which is a continuation of the routes from Switzerland). Then he wrote a book about it. You could tell how much he'd become absorbed by the culture of the Way as soon as he introduced himself: first name only, "because on the Way we don't use family names and formality". He addressed everyone in the "tu" form, as well.
He didn't appear to be religious, or at least not Christian (for example, he mentioned that he hadn't taken part in the pilgrims' communion), but the spirituality of the experience had taken him over. He talked of the companionship of those who walk the route, especially in the hostels of an evening, and also of the sense of aloneness in the rhythm of marching 25 kilometres a day in all kinds of weather. He described the feeling of being in buildings touched by other pilgrims over hundreds of years, where even the ruins hold echoes of their lives, and showed some of the little shrines to those who had died on the route. He also showed us the accoutrements: the hat and staff, the shoes, and of course the cockleshells, but also the document by which he had been sent on the pilgrimage. He repeated this, that a pilgrim doesn't choose to go, but is "sent". He spoke of the traditions of the pilgrimage, culminating in burning the clothes worn on the way to Compostella so that the pilgrim returns home lightened of the burden, and clean.
The other two speakers, who are locals, had each walked some of the Way but not yet fulfilled the conditions of a Pilgrimage. They spoke of their own experiences and their hope to complete it, and shared some of the events of last August, as 2010 was a special year for the pilgrimage. All three speakers are members of the official pilgrim of from Saintes which runs that website.
The Via Turonensis (Tours) is one of the world heritage walks; the main route runs through Saintes and Pons to Mirambeau. There is also an old route which goes through St Dizant to the ferry at Blaye and then across to Bordeaux via the Médoc. Charente Maritime's section of the Way has a particular style of marking the path with bornes. I foresee a summer project!
The chairman asked if I'd consider doing the route on Broomstick (the accepted modes of transport are foot, horse, or bicycle, so it's not necessary to walk, though I wonder how bikes and horses cope with some of the muddy mountain tracks in the photos).
The afternoon finished with drinks and Santiago cakes. One small regret: we didn't sing a pilgrimage song. Perhaps I should have taken along the songs from the Cantigas de Santa Maria, saved from one of the music workshops that Belinda Sykes tutored ahem years ago.
Descriptions of the gear of a mediaeval and a modern pilgrim
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Foodie-day
Today the Association Culturelle Dizannaise (St-Dizant-du-Gua's event organisation) ran an afternoon featuring some local food-producers. I was expecting a few displays, some tasting, and a lot of buying, so it was confusing to find the hall of the Foyer Rural set with rows of chairs.
There were three stalls: a baker, a wine-maker, and the owner of a prepared-food delivery company. Not a lot, you might think, for a whole afternoon. Ah, but that was why there were rows of chairs. Each one gave a talk about their work, and answered questions. I was afraid it would turn out to be rather boring, but indeed it wasn't.
The baker, who delivers around here, was the first surprise. He makes a wider range of bread than goes on the van, and gave us snippets of information about what goes into the bread and how the different loaves are made. None of this knock-back and prove for 30 minutes casual attitude to the Staff of Life: most of the breads are fermented for at least 12 hours, and one type for 3-4 weeks! I can now tell you that chestnut and fig bread is delicious, and the baker even knows which fields the wheat for the Grand Resèrve comes from. And I bought a loaf of bread made from spelt (l'épeautre) which is reckoned to be the oldest type of grain grown for flour.
The vineyard bloke is a fifth-generation viticulturist and agriculturist (he grows wheat too) who produces grape juice as well as the local standards of cognac, vin de charentes, and pineau de charentes. He brought along various ages of rotted grape juice, and some delicious young sparkling unrotted grape juice. Apparently the pineau is good and also cheap; all I can say is that some of the alcoholic liquids are beautiful colours.
The ready-meals person didn't look so promising. In a white chef's coat, he stood behind a trestle table decorated only with a few menus and rather nervously told us about the food-preparation place and that they deliver to schools and care homes and to people who are temporarily or permanently off cooking duties. Things cheered up when he mentioned catering for parties and weddings, and he was much livelier when answering questions. Then he said "Shall I fetch the trays now?" and in came masses of party food which was utterly delicious, plus a bag for each one of us, containing one of today's meals. I'm just eating mine. It's nothing like the school dinners I remember - there are five courses and all very tasty. At €8.50 it's nearly twice as expensive as Meals on Wheels, but well worth it. I think it could be useful for catering for Music Weeks. My only complaint is that the bread roll is nowhere near as good as our baker's :)
There were three stalls: a baker, a wine-maker, and the owner of a prepared-food delivery company. Not a lot, you might think, for a whole afternoon. Ah, but that was why there were rows of chairs. Each one gave a talk about their work, and answered questions. I was afraid it would turn out to be rather boring, but indeed it wasn't.
The baker, who delivers around here, was the first surprise. He makes a wider range of bread than goes on the van, and gave us snippets of information about what goes into the bread and how the different loaves are made. None of this knock-back and prove for 30 minutes casual attitude to the Staff of Life: most of the breads are fermented for at least 12 hours, and one type for 3-4 weeks! I can now tell you that chestnut and fig bread is delicious, and the baker even knows which fields the wheat for the Grand Resèrve comes from. And I bought a loaf of bread made from spelt (l'épeautre) which is reckoned to be the oldest type of grain grown for flour.
The vineyard bloke is a fifth-generation viticulturist and agriculturist (he grows wheat too) who produces grape juice as well as the local standards of cognac, vin de charentes, and pineau de charentes. He brought along various ages of rotted grape juice, and some delicious young sparkling unrotted grape juice. Apparently the pineau is good and also cheap; all I can say is that some of the alcoholic liquids are beautiful colours.
The ready-meals person didn't look so promising. In a white chef's coat, he stood behind a trestle table decorated only with a few menus and rather nervously told us about the food-preparation place and that they deliver to schools and care homes and to people who are temporarily or permanently off cooking duties. Things cheered up when he mentioned catering for parties and weddings, and he was much livelier when answering questions. Then he said "Shall I fetch the trays now?" and in came masses of party food which was utterly delicious, plus a bag for each one of us, containing one of today's meals. I'm just eating mine. It's nothing like the school dinners I remember - there are five courses and all very tasty. At €8.50 it's nearly twice as expensive as Meals on Wheels, but well worth it. I think it could be useful for catering for Music Weeks. My only complaint is that the bread roll is nowhere near as good as our baker's :)
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Unannotated Fuller Memorandum
When I lived in Llanelli, its bountifully-stocked public library had a lot of Oxford Edition nineteenth-century novels. I read all of them. I loved the editions for their clarity, but even more for their explanatory notes. Satirical works in particular need a lot of notation if they are to survive beyond their immediate period: how can you appreciate them properly if you don't know what it is that they're mocking?
It strikes me that Charlie Stross' novels will need copious editorial help to be understood, say, thirty years from now. Currently I'm enjoying The Fuller Memorandum. Even apart from the mildly specialist ITgeek and mathmo content, it's scattered thickly with allusions to current environments and less current literature, and post-Industrial Revolution history. I happily pick up on "Person from Porlock" and various references to H. G. Wells' opera; I've seen extracts of Blavatsky and read Wheatley novels[0], and know enough 20th-century political history to follow the passages which deal with that; I get the joke about the weaver's son running off with a spinster called Jenny, and the faux-Pepysisms. It all adds to the richness and liveliness of the work. These references will probably still be known and understood in 2050 (well, apart from Wheatley), but what about the mention of C&A (already defunct in England) or the Cult of Jobs[1]?
And now I'm wondering if the novels would benefit from notes right now. What tasty titbits might have I missed?
[0] Yes, yes, poor taste: but I was only 12 or 13 at the time!
[1] In a hilarious couple of pages about buying a new phone, including a delicate swipe at the mobile phone industry and its main customer base.
It strikes me that Charlie Stross' novels will need copious editorial help to be understood, say, thirty years from now. Currently I'm enjoying The Fuller Memorandum. Even apart from the mildly specialist ITgeek and mathmo content, it's scattered thickly with allusions to current environments and less current literature, and post-Industrial Revolution history. I happily pick up on "Person from Porlock" and various references to H. G. Wells' opera; I've seen extracts of Blavatsky and read Wheatley novels[0], and know enough 20th-century political history to follow the passages which deal with that; I get the joke about the weaver's son running off with a spinster called Jenny, and the faux-Pepysisms. It all adds to the richness and liveliness of the work. These references will probably still be known and understood in 2050 (well, apart from Wheatley), but what about the mention of C&A (already defunct in England) or the Cult of Jobs[1]?
And now I'm wondering if the novels would benefit from notes right now. What tasty titbits might have I missed?
[0] Yes, yes, poor taste: but I was only 12 or 13 at the time!
[1] In a hilarious couple of pages about buying a new phone, including a delicate swipe at the mobile phone industry and its main customer base.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Tweet squawk warble
The garden is particularly full of birds this morning. I was a bit miffed that they got at the ripe strawberries and didn't leave any for my breakfast, but it's encouraging to see so many looking fat and healthy after the hard winter here and the problems that the migrants suffered in Africa.
There's a robin sitting on the gate, watching me through the window.
There's a robin sitting on the gate, watching me through the window.
Randonnées
There's a popular activity around here, known as Randonnée (rando for short). It's a group walk, hike, and/or ride-out (cyclists usually have detours on joint randos, otherwise they'd fall off their bikes trying to ride slowly all the way). Often they are "randonnées découvertes", which means there will interesting places to view or explore with guides who know about them.
Many of the towns and villages organise randonnées; St Dizant is about to join in. The first Saint Dizant du Gua rando découverte has been arranged for Tuesday 19 October, starting at 2pm and taking the afternoon over a route of 8-10 kilometres.
I wonder what they're going to explore, and what the take-up will be on a mid-week afternoon (though viticulturists may be free that week). If Broomstick's wheel has been repaired by then, I fancy tagging along.
Many of the towns and villages organise randonnées; St Dizant is about to join in. The first Saint Dizant du Gua rando découverte has been arranged for Tuesday 19 October, starting at 2pm and taking the afternoon over a route of 8-10 kilometres.
I wonder what they're going to explore, and what the take-up will be on a mid-week afternoon (though viticulturists may be free that week). If Broomstick's wheel has been repaired by then, I fancy tagging along.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Roadsights
Last week the garagiste in Mirambeau took me to see a car for sale in Niort. We returned via the motorway; near Mirambeau he stopped in the entrance to an unlabelled little road, unlocked the barred gate which blocked it, and drove through, passing a small marble memorial shrine to those who died in a dreadful accident here on 10 November 1993. I looked it up: in fog, there was a crash involving 52 vehicles (including 6 lorries) which killed 15 people and injured 53 others. It's out of the way but is still decorated with flowers.
This morning's was a happier sight. A beautiful male marsh harrier rose from the verge at Les Carrières just as my car passed. They are massive close up!
This morning's was a happier sight. A beautiful male marsh harrier rose from the verge at Les Carrières just as my car passed. They are massive close up!
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Family visit
Some of the family have been here for their first time.
They arrived last week just in time to go to the night market at Jonzac, outside the lovely Art Deco market building with the beautifully clean and refurbished church glowing in the evening sunlight. They scoffed oysters and went back for another lot, then we had various dishes from various stalls, as you do, and watched the Polynesian dancers every time they came to our end of the tables. I love this kind of atmosphere, where people are so friendly and complete strangers strike up conversations: two women from Paris who come to Jonzac for the cure every year assured me that it does all kinds of wonderful things; a couple from Flemish Belgium chatted for quite a while; random passing locals spoke to us, as well as a few near-neighbours from St Dizant with some recent gossip.
In between the dancing, the accordionists wandered around. The old man was much impressed by R's "24-heures Moto" t-shirt (they'd been to Le Mans on the way down here), and sang a few bars of something about a motard, followed by a quick blast of Smoke on The Water. Interesting, on an accordion. What a shame we weren't quick enough to record it. And then he tried some English pieces, so of course I warbled along with the few words I could remember of a Beatles' song. He clearly realised what type of voice I have and started up the Gounod Ave Maria, which was most odd to sing in such surroundings! The moon rose huge and golden, and we drove home by its light.
On Thursday we surveyed the estuary from Mortagne, then went to Meschers where $Visitors climbed down thousands of steps into the cave-dwellings and I went to the Plage des Nonnes, a pretty little beach. Later, at Talmont, the low tide revealed the small stony cove by the church of St. Radegonde where boats used to arrive, and we wandered around the dinky old village eating Amazing Ice-cream (huge scoops of ginger and lemon for me, utterly delicious, though next time I plan to get a ginger and dark chocolate combination). $Visitors would be leaving before Tuesday's candlelit tour of Talmont, so I've missed it again this year.
On Friday they went out on Le Saintongeais for a day-trip to the Médoc. It cheerfully blew up a small gale: watching the boat return across the currents into Vitrezay I was reminded of the ferry to Shapinsay crossing The String. They hadn't been impressed by a rather downmarket tourist-type château visit, but they made friends with the coach-load of French tourists.
That evening we sampled the new restaurant at the back of 1000 Frais et 1 Fred, the superette in St Dizant. The style is quaint, with random old furniture under a couple of large gazebos; the food is excellent at 18 or 20 euros for a 3-course meal with a drink.
On Saturday we ate meringue and more ice-cream at the teashop in Jonzac and looked around a brocante at Ozillac. I found some lovely old furniture being sold at lovely high prices by a friendly bloke who told me he's been single for two years and that, as a loss-leader, he'd knock 200 euros off the price of the antique chest-of-drawers I coveted, and then he'd search for other pieces to my specifications. I'd have been more tempted if he hadn't thrown in the personal information!
We went home via Le Doublon which was being set up for the monthly karaoke, leaving just as the singing started. Before leaving, however, we witnessed a wedding convoy going up the N730, the bridal couple lounging in a trailer decorated with giant sunflowers towed by a tractor making an astoundingly untractorly noise. The noise came from a horn salvaged from the little steam engine that used to run on the line which went through St Ciers du Taillon and St Dizant du Gua on the way to Royan. Damien-across-the-road had been working on it the previous weekend but I'd had no idea what it was or why; it certainly made a lovely racket.
On Sunday we turned up at La Daugaterie too late for lunch, so after $Visitors had been out for an afternoon ride on the Black Kwaka, we went back there for dinner. Again we were a little late, but M. Lollo welcomed us in. We overfed royally. By the time we'd halted over the inevitable ice-cream the place had emptied and it was long after closing-time, but he was clearly unconcerned: so much so that he brought over small glasses and a bottle of cognac, which $Visitors pronounced to be very good.
$Visitors have gone now. It was much fun, and I miss them!
They arrived last week just in time to go to the night market at Jonzac, outside the lovely Art Deco market building with the beautifully clean and refurbished church glowing in the evening sunlight. They scoffed oysters and went back for another lot, then we had various dishes from various stalls, as you do, and watched the Polynesian dancers every time they came to our end of the tables. I love this kind of atmosphere, where people are so friendly and complete strangers strike up conversations: two women from Paris who come to Jonzac for the cure every year assured me that it does all kinds of wonderful things; a couple from Flemish Belgium chatted for quite a while; random passing locals spoke to us, as well as a few near-neighbours from St Dizant with some recent gossip.
In between the dancing, the accordionists wandered around. The old man was much impressed by R's "24-heures Moto" t-shirt (they'd been to Le Mans on the way down here), and sang a few bars of something about a motard, followed by a quick blast of Smoke on The Water. Interesting, on an accordion. What a shame we weren't quick enough to record it. And then he tried some English pieces, so of course I warbled along with the few words I could remember of a Beatles' song. He clearly realised what type of voice I have and started up the Gounod Ave Maria, which was most odd to sing in such surroundings! The moon rose huge and golden, and we drove home by its light.
On Thursday we surveyed the estuary from Mortagne, then went to Meschers where $Visitors climbed down thousands of steps into the cave-dwellings and I went to the Plage des Nonnes, a pretty little beach. Later, at Talmont, the low tide revealed the small stony cove by the church of St. Radegonde where boats used to arrive, and we wandered around the dinky old village eating Amazing Ice-cream (huge scoops of ginger and lemon for me, utterly delicious, though next time I plan to get a ginger and dark chocolate combination). $Visitors would be leaving before Tuesday's candlelit tour of Talmont, so I've missed it again this year.
On Friday they went out on Le Saintongeais for a day-trip to the Médoc. It cheerfully blew up a small gale: watching the boat return across the currents into Vitrezay I was reminded of the ferry to Shapinsay crossing The String. They hadn't been impressed by a rather downmarket tourist-type château visit, but they made friends with the coach-load of French tourists.
That evening we sampled the new restaurant at the back of 1000 Frais et 1 Fred, the superette in St Dizant. The style is quaint, with random old furniture under a couple of large gazebos; the food is excellent at 18 or 20 euros for a 3-course meal with a drink.
On Saturday we ate meringue and more ice-cream at the teashop in Jonzac and looked around a brocante at Ozillac. I found some lovely old furniture being sold at lovely high prices by a friendly bloke who told me he's been single for two years and that, as a loss-leader, he'd knock 200 euros off the price of the antique chest-of-drawers I coveted, and then he'd search for other pieces to my specifications. I'd have been more tempted if he hadn't thrown in the personal information!
We went home via Le Doublon which was being set up for the monthly karaoke, leaving just as the singing started. Before leaving, however, we witnessed a wedding convoy going up the N730, the bridal couple lounging in a trailer decorated with giant sunflowers towed by a tractor making an astoundingly untractorly noise. The noise came from a horn salvaged from the little steam engine that used to run on the line which went through St Ciers du Taillon and St Dizant du Gua on the way to Royan. Damien-across-the-road had been working on it the previous weekend but I'd had no idea what it was or why; it certainly made a lovely racket.
On Sunday we turned up at La Daugaterie too late for lunch, so after $Visitors had been out for an afternoon ride on the Black Kwaka, we went back there for dinner. Again we were a little late, but M. Lollo welcomed us in. We overfed royally. By the time we'd halted over the inevitable ice-cream the place had emptied and it was long after closing-time, but he was clearly unconcerned: so much so that he brought over small glasses and a bottle of cognac, which $Visitors pronounced to be very good.
$Visitors have gone now. It was much fun, and I miss them!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Take the E Train
As for returning by train, it was a perfectly lovely experience.
IMA couldn't book a train from UK so I did it myself, and rather more efficiently than they had on the London-bound journey, bless 'em, as they'd never booked wheelchair-space before and had simply ordered a leisure select ticket (expensive, and my seat had to be changed anyway).
The only trouble with booking wheelchair-space is that there aren't many per train (2 or 3) and they can refuse to let you travel on your chosen train if there are already the stipulated number of wheelchairs aboard. On the other hand, it's leisure select or premier only and it's at a lovely cheap price. I picked an unfrequented train to London just after rush-time; the staff at Ipswich were very pleasant and helpful and everything went smoothly.
The taxi between stations (wheelchair into underground does not go) was booked by IMA, and very silly it was too: a whole huge Mercedes minibus to myself. Pity about the noise from some local radio station playing through the flashy speakers.
It's the first time I've left from St Pancras International; I halted just inside, looking for signage. A lurking member of staff pounced. "Good morning! How are you today?" "Hello! Confused!" "Don't worry, you don't need to be confused, Hakim is looking after you." And so he did, taking my ticket and doing all the machine-necessities and guiding me through to baggage-scanning and passport control. With childhood experiences of travel lurking in my subconscious, I have to suppress an urge to tip, and I was reminded of my mother's shock and annoyance on her return to England to find that there were no porters on railway stations. Mama, they're back!
When I booked the Eurostar to Lille I'd gone for a cheap one, not just to save money but because they're usually less crowded. In fact, though the Paris train was packed out, this train to Bruxelles via Lille was not. I had an entire premier carriage to myself, with attendants who told me I could make as much noise as I liked, and then asked if I gave singing lessons ("Yes, but not in London, sorry."). They offered newspapers and drinks and magazines: I took The Economist and an orange juice (real squeezed orange juice) which was accompanied by a glass of water with lemon and ice. Lunch was delicious, the sort of thing that airline meals aspire to and miss.
You might think all this was horribly extravagant. It can certainly be expensive at peak times, even on the reduced take-your-own-chair fare. On this under-used businesspeople's train in August, it cost £33. Ahhh.
And then a taxi all the way to Wailly-Beaucamp, arranged by IMA. The driver also had some radio station blasting, and guess what: the first song was the same as the last song playing in the London taxi! It symbolised the whole joined-up journey.
IMA couldn't book a train from UK so I did it myself, and rather more efficiently than they had on the London-bound journey, bless 'em, as they'd never booked wheelchair-space before and had simply ordered a leisure select ticket (expensive, and my seat had to be changed anyway).
The only trouble with booking wheelchair-space is that there aren't many per train (2 or 3) and they can refuse to let you travel on your chosen train if there are already the stipulated number of wheelchairs aboard. On the other hand, it's leisure select or premier only and it's at a lovely cheap price. I picked an unfrequented train to London just after rush-time; the staff at Ipswich were very pleasant and helpful and everything went smoothly.
The taxi between stations (wheelchair into underground does not go) was booked by IMA, and very silly it was too: a whole huge Mercedes minibus to myself. Pity about the noise from some local radio station playing through the flashy speakers.
It's the first time I've left from St Pancras International; I halted just inside, looking for signage. A lurking member of staff pounced. "Good morning! How are you today?" "Hello! Confused!" "Don't worry, you don't need to be confused, Hakim is looking after you." And so he did, taking my ticket and doing all the machine-necessities and guiding me through to baggage-scanning and passport control. With childhood experiences of travel lurking in my subconscious, I have to suppress an urge to tip, and I was reminded of my mother's shock and annoyance on her return to England to find that there were no porters on railway stations. Mama, they're back!
When I booked the Eurostar to Lille I'd gone for a cheap one, not just to save money but because they're usually less crowded. In fact, though the Paris train was packed out, this train to Bruxelles via Lille was not. I had an entire premier carriage to myself, with attendants who told me I could make as much noise as I liked, and then asked if I gave singing lessons ("Yes, but not in London, sorry."). They offered newspapers and drinks and magazines: I took The Economist and an orange juice (real squeezed orange juice) which was accompanied by a glass of water with lemon and ice. Lunch was delicious, the sort of thing that airline meals aspire to and miss.
You might think all this was horribly extravagant. It can certainly be expensive at peak times, even on the reduced take-your-own-chair fare. On this under-used businesspeople's train in August, it cost £33. Ahhh.
And then a taxi all the way to Wailly-Beaucamp, arranged by IMA. The driver also had some radio station blasting, and guess what: the first song was the same as the last song playing in the London taxi! It symbolised the whole joined-up journey.
M. Wallon, highly recommended
It didn't go according to plan, but all is well now.
Eventually M. Wallon drove up to Boulogne to demand the Right Parts in person; he was unsuccessful and returned with the news that the parts could be another fortnight in arriving. He was due to take his annual holiday the following week, so it would mean at least another four weeks before the car was ready!
M. Wallon is a star. He went round the local breakers' yards and found almost all the necessary bits (though not a hubcap), and built it all. He also attempted to charge the battery three times, but it was dead; a new battery was obtained. He checked all the other wheels carefully and tightened up the other rear wheel which was also a bit loose (eek! doesn't bear thinking about), and pumped up the tyres which he said were very low. So much for getting the wheels and tyres checked in a tyre-place before I left England, eh?
He finished the repairs on the Friday evening before closing the garage until September. IMA called me to say they would book a flight to Paris for Monday, which I declined because it's a long way to Stanstead at this end and a long way from Paris at the other, and we agreed Tuesday by train. M. Wallon, fortunately for me, was holidaying at home. He came out to open up the garage specially. What a lovely man.
If you are ever in the southern Pas-de-Calais/Somme area and need some garage-y work done, it's SARL GUY WALLON, Agent Station Renault Elan, in Wailly-Beaucamp on the RN1. Say hello from me.
Eventually M. Wallon drove up to Boulogne to demand the Right Parts in person; he was unsuccessful and returned with the news that the parts could be another fortnight in arriving. He was due to take his annual holiday the following week, so it would mean at least another four weeks before the car was ready!
M. Wallon is a star. He went round the local breakers' yards and found almost all the necessary bits (though not a hubcap), and built it all. He also attempted to charge the battery three times, but it was dead; a new battery was obtained. He checked all the other wheels carefully and tightened up the other rear wheel which was also a bit loose (eek! doesn't bear thinking about), and pumped up the tyres which he said were very low. So much for getting the wheels and tyres checked in a tyre-place before I left England, eh?
He finished the repairs on the Friday evening before closing the garage until September. IMA called me to say they would book a flight to Paris for Monday, which I declined because it's a long way to Stanstead at this end and a long way from Paris at the other, and we agreed Tuesday by train. M. Wallon, fortunately for me, was holidaying at home. He came out to open up the garage specially. What a lovely man.
If you are ever in the southern Pas-de-Calais/Somme area and need some garage-y work done, it's SARL GUY WALLON, Agent Station Renault Elan, in Wailly-Beaucamp on the RN1. Say hello from me.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Not quite there and back again
The parts arrived for the repair of the car, but they were the Wrong Parts.
Meanwhile, there was somewhat of a disaster in the family, and I was desperate to return to them. The breakdown company (Autonational Rescue), or rather the agents of their French counterpart (IMA) were wonderful, in particular Indra who was dealing with my case: she arranged for me to get back to England by taxis and trains, leaving the car with M. Wallon.
Family disasters have improved now, and, provided that the Right Parts have arrived chez M. Wallon, I should be able to collect the car next week and continue the interrupted journey to Charente Maritime.
Now, this accident report from for the insurance company... I don't suppose anyone knows the name of the tyre place in Norwich where I had the wheels and tyres checked before ALUG Narchpubmeet? No? And I didn't get the names of the gendarmes: not that they seemed at all worried about reports, so even if the insurance company try to contact them there may not be much information. I don't think they even asked for my name - they just sorted everything out and were hugely helpful and supportive and then disappeared like Lone Rangers.
Meanwhile, there was somewhat of a disaster in the family, and I was desperate to return to them. The breakdown company (Autonational Rescue), or rather the agents of their French counterpart (IMA) were wonderful, in particular Indra who was dealing with my case: she arranged for me to get back to England by taxis and trains, leaving the car with M. Wallon.
Family disasters have improved now, and, provided that the Right Parts have arrived chez M. Wallon, I should be able to collect the car next week and continue the interrupted journey to Charente Maritime.
Now, this accident report from for the insurance company... I don't suppose anyone knows the name of the tyre place in Norwich where I had the wheels and tyres checked before ALUG Narchpubmeet? No? And I didn't get the names of the gendarmes: not that they seemed at all worried about reports, so even if the insurance company try to contact them there may not be much information. I don't think they even asked for my name - they just sorted everything out and were hugely helpful and supportive and then disappeared like Lone Rangers.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday morning blues
Wishing to get my hairbrush and some books, I asked about a taxi to the garage: 30 euros, and I have only 15 euros in cash. It seems there are no shops nearby and no cash machines. I think I can manage by combing my hair with the many-toothed hairclip, and reading the paperbacks in the bar.
So instead of travelling around in unattainable luxury, on the advice of M. Wallon I went to search for the wheel. It would save over 100 euros if I could find it. The tyre was almost new, too. I headed back up the RN1, looking over garden walls and knocking on the doors of houses alongside the road; talked to many people and even more dogs. Nobody had seen it. Nobody had heard anything around 3am on Sunday morning. Not even the dogs. Uncanny. People were very friendly, though, so it was a pleasant if unproductive few hours.
When I returned, the Ozzies were waiting outside the hotel with their bags. They are bored already and have decided not to wait for their car to be repaired. They tell me of a good restaurant by the golf course 500 metres down the road, but I'm too tired from wheeling up and down the hill between Nampont-St-Martin and Nempont-St-Firmin. They also tell me they had located wifi on the other side of the hotel dining-room, so I waved them goodbye and dashed off to fetch laptop and found that the dining-room is locked even though it's lunchtime: today I must be the only person who wanted to eat. I can easily do without a meal, but not finding the wifi was a real disappointment. Back to crappy daytime tv... but no! There is signal behind the dining-room under the trees!
So now we are up-to-date, and as it's started to rain on my keyboard I shall give up on this intermittent signal and go in search of some light literature.
So instead of travelling around in unattainable luxury, on the advice of M. Wallon I went to search for the wheel. It would save over 100 euros if I could find it. The tyre was almost new, too. I headed back up the RN1, looking over garden walls and knocking on the doors of houses alongside the road; talked to many people and even more dogs. Nobody had seen it. Nobody had heard anything around 3am on Sunday morning. Not even the dogs. Uncanny. People were very friendly, though, so it was a pleasant if unproductive few hours.
When I returned, the Ozzies were waiting outside the hotel with their bags. They are bored already and have decided not to wait for their car to be repaired. They tell me of a good restaurant by the golf course 500 metres down the road, but I'm too tired from wheeling up and down the hill between Nampont-St-Martin and Nempont-St-Firmin. They also tell me they had located wifi on the other side of the hotel dining-room, so I waved them goodbye and dashed off to fetch laptop and found that the dining-room is locked even though it's lunchtime: today I must be the only person who wanted to eat. I can easily do without a meal, but not finding the wifi was a real disappointment. Back to crappy daytime tv... but no! There is signal behind the dining-room under the trees!
So now we are up-to-date, and as it's started to rain on my keyboard I shall give up on this intermittent signal and go in search of some light literature.
Sleepy Sunday
Having found the correct phone number for Autonational Rescue in France, I spoke to someone who was very helpful. Then I had to find out where my car had been taken. The breakdown-truck person turned out to be M. Wallon, whose garage is 7 kms back north on the RN1. It being Sunday, there's nothing much he can do yet.
I slept part of the day, chatted to people in the hotel and watched tv for the rest. Also at the hotel are three Australians whose car had broken down on the way to Calais. They're heading for Edinburgh where one of them is starting work next week; his partner has a job interview too.
The hotel is cheap-ish and comfortable and the staff are friendly, though the food is not up to usual French standards. The cheese in the salad was sliced plastic! What kind of clientele do they get?! There's no internet, and after many more phone calls it seems that I shall be here until Thursday. I should have picked up some of the books as well as the laptop.
I slept part of the day, chatted to people in the hotel and watched tv for the rest. Also at the hotel are three Australians whose car had broken down on the way to Calais. They're heading for Edinburgh where one of them is starting work next week; his partner has a job interview too.
The hotel is cheap-ish and comfortable and the staff are friendly, though the food is not up to usual French standards. The cheese in the salad was sliced plastic! What kind of clientele do they get?! There's no internet, and after many more phone calls it seems that I shall be here until Thursday. I should have picked up some of the books as well as the laptop.
Shall I ever get home?
Just before reaching the Eurotunnel terminal there came a strange rattling noise from the back of the car. My first thought was "exhaust!" and the second was an even more worrying "wheel!". I got out and checked - they were all present and appeared to be correct. The car had an MOT and full service on 1 July, so I must be imagining problems. Surely it was more likely that the jampot and slow cooker had moved around in my less-than-perfect packing and were rattling against each other. As I drove away the noise had stopped, so I decided to re-pack when I stopped on the other side.
On the RN1 between Boulogne and Abbeville the sound re-commenced. It rapidly worsened as I braked carefully. The steering felt odd. No, the steering felt very bad indeed. The car swerved all over the road, there was a horrible scrunch, a show of sparks worthy of an Ooooh!, and a screeching noise like an angle-grinder in a temper. I watched in horror as the rear left wheel overtook the car and bounded down the hill, bouncing into a wall and disappearing, and fought the steering and brakes to come to a halt as close as possible to the side of the road (and on the road, rather than in the woods).
The first thing to do was call the police. I hadn't quite parked tidily. They asked all sorts of difficult questions, such as what kind of car: of course they didn't recognise "Vauxhall", and I couldn't remember what it is in not-UK. They also wished to know where the car was. I hauled Chariot out and wandered down the road with mobile phone against ear, looking for a roadsign. In the stress I couldn't even remember the word for roadsign to explain what I was doing. They clearly thought I was drunk or daft.
A passing car stopped and the two occupants offered help. The policeman told me to pass the mobile over to them. It didn't help at first because they didn't know exactly where we were, either, but one of them stayed with me and my mobile while the other drove down the road to check. They were wonderful, remaining with me until the police found us (about an hour later). I was glad of their hazard lights when Bloo's battery died while I was up the road, having left on the headlights as well as hazards. To pass the time they searched for the wheel, while I phoned my breakdown insurance company.
Phone calls to various numbers in different countries were entirely without success (in the dark I couldn't find the piece of paper with the correct number and none of the numbers on the booklet connected to anyone able to help), but the gendarmes had ordered a breakdown truck. While waiting, they looked for the wheel. Eventually the breakdown truck arrived. All three gendarmes and the truck driver looked for the wheel.
The car was dragged, shrieking and digging in its heels, onto the truck. I remembered that neither of the bags I'd grabbed out of the back contained my toothbrush so a gendarme climbed up and found it in another bag. The gendarmes had a discussion over what to do with me. At almost 5am and in mild shock, I'd have said yes to a cell, but one of them knew a hotel just down the road: he phoned up and arranged it all. It really was only just down the road, and they escorted me there on foot, got me and Chariot up the steps, picked up the key which had been left on the desk, and then carried Chariot upstairs. I refused to stay in Chariot while they did this, which seemed to offend their macho-ness a little but I'm sure they were secretly relieved. They came in to check that the room was ok, and moved furniture around to make it more accessible. They were marvellous. Such a shame I didn't find out who they were or even which gendarmerie, because they should be thanked properly. I'll have to ask the breakdown chap.
More by luck than anything else, my two bags contained toothpaste and clothes and debit card in addition to the mandatory random and unnecessary items (and the laptop, but that wasn't luck - of course I'd picked up the laptop bag). I'd remembered to hang on to the breakdown service booklet and to pick up the car information. However, I hadn't collected a hairbrush. That's going to hurt.
On the RN1 between Boulogne and Abbeville the sound re-commenced. It rapidly worsened as I braked carefully. The steering felt odd. No, the steering felt very bad indeed. The car swerved all over the road, there was a horrible scrunch, a show of sparks worthy of an Ooooh!, and a screeching noise like an angle-grinder in a temper. I watched in horror as the rear left wheel overtook the car and bounded down the hill, bouncing into a wall and disappearing, and fought the steering and brakes to come to a halt as close as possible to the side of the road (and on the road, rather than in the woods).
The first thing to do was call the police. I hadn't quite parked tidily. They asked all sorts of difficult questions, such as what kind of car: of course they didn't recognise "Vauxhall", and I couldn't remember what it is in not-UK. They also wished to know where the car was. I hauled Chariot out and wandered down the road with mobile phone against ear, looking for a roadsign. In the stress I couldn't even remember the word for roadsign to explain what I was doing. They clearly thought I was drunk or daft.
A passing car stopped and the two occupants offered help. The policeman told me to pass the mobile over to them. It didn't help at first because they didn't know exactly where we were, either, but one of them stayed with me and my mobile while the other drove down the road to check. They were wonderful, remaining with me until the police found us (about an hour later). I was glad of their hazard lights when Bloo's battery died while I was up the road, having left on the headlights as well as hazards. To pass the time they searched for the wheel, while I phoned my breakdown insurance company.
Phone calls to various numbers in different countries were entirely without success (in the dark I couldn't find the piece of paper with the correct number and none of the numbers on the booklet connected to anyone able to help), but the gendarmes had ordered a breakdown truck. While waiting, they looked for the wheel. Eventually the breakdown truck arrived. All three gendarmes and the truck driver looked for the wheel.
The car was dragged, shrieking and digging in its heels, onto the truck. I remembered that neither of the bags I'd grabbed out of the back contained my toothbrush so a gendarme climbed up and found it in another bag. The gendarmes had a discussion over what to do with me. At almost 5am and in mild shock, I'd have said yes to a cell, but one of them knew a hotel just down the road: he phoned up and arranged it all. It really was only just down the road, and they escorted me there on foot, got me and Chariot up the steps, picked up the key which had been left on the desk, and then carried Chariot upstairs. I refused to stay in Chariot while they did this, which seemed to offend their macho-ness a little but I'm sure they were secretly relieved. They came in to check that the room was ok, and moved furniture around to make it more accessible. They were marvellous. Such a shame I didn't find out who they were or even which gendarmerie, because they should be thanked properly. I'll have to ask the breakdown chap.
More by luck than anything else, my two bags contained toothpaste and clothes and debit card in addition to the mandatory random and unnecessary items (and the laptop, but that wasn't luck - of course I'd picked up the laptop bag). I'd remembered to hang on to the breakdown service booklet and to pick up the car information. However, I hadn't collected a hairbrush. That's going to hurt.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Eileen Poulter
This morning I bade farewell to the Suffolk coast with a wander around Aldeburgh and up to Thorpeness. Seeing the House in the Clouds reminded me of the only time I've been inside it, which was for Eileen Poulter's 70th birthday celebration.
Eileen had a beautiful clear lyrical soprano voice, and her musicianship was astounding. She sang mainly early music, with the Deller Consort, the Purcell Consort of Voices, and with other singers like Janet Baker, Robert Tear and Ian Partridge. I was fortunate to have lessons with her for several years. She was very patient with me, although clearly unable to understand how I could fail to read the dots on sight, or be unaware of exactly how the music progressed through key changes without having to do the musical equivalent of counting on my fingers. Looking back at some of the things I achieved with her help I wonder if it was really me!
By the time of her 70th birthday she was already ill (she died not very long afterwards), and though she put together a marvellous programme and sang in a couple of ensemble pieces herself, she sang alto rather than soprano. It's one of the boasts of my life to say that I sang with her.
Eileen had a beautiful clear lyrical soprano voice, and her musicianship was astounding. She sang mainly early music, with the Deller Consort, the Purcell Consort of Voices, and with other singers like Janet Baker, Robert Tear and Ian Partridge. I was fortunate to have lessons with her for several years. She was very patient with me, although clearly unable to understand how I could fail to read the dots on sight, or be unaware of exactly how the music progressed through key changes without having to do the musical equivalent of counting on my fingers. Looking back at some of the things I achieved with her help I wonder if it was really me!
By the time of her 70th birthday she was already ill (she died not very long afterwards), and though she put together a marvellous programme and sang in a couple of ensemble pieces herself, she sang alto rather than soprano. It's one of the boasts of my life to say that I sang with her.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Dorkbot, Tim Hunkin, and Southwold
Have you heard of Dorkbot? I managed to be in the right part of England to attend Dorkbot Anglia's first meeting. It was brilliant.
Inspired by the Great Hunkin's talk, I persuaded m'friend to go to Southwold Pier, which is a recently-constructed edifice following the time-honoured traditions of seaside holiday towns.
In the Under the Pier Show we had various adventures including travelling to the bottom of the sea via the Bathyscape, thumping bankers, and attempting to control fuel rods in the nuclear reactor. I cut a strand of hair and fed it to the Gene Forecaster, which calculated my expiry date as 2052; the 3D printout, when opened and eaten, left the message "YOU ARE HEADING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION", which was most reassuring.
The right direction was towards the Water Clock (which I consider equal to the Orloje of Prague). After the half-hourly mechanically marvellous display, we went to eat in the excellent restaurant with its view of the waves. The only disappointment was that the Micro Bandstand wasn't in use.
Dorkbot Anglia Two will be on Thursday 16 September at Snape Maltings, Suffolk, IP17 1SP.
I probably shan't be in England for it. Please go in my stead.
Inspired by the Great Hunkin's talk, I persuaded m'friend to go to Southwold Pier, which is a recently-constructed edifice following the time-honoured traditions of seaside holiday towns.
In the Under the Pier Show we had various adventures including travelling to the bottom of the sea via the Bathyscape, thumping bankers, and attempting to control fuel rods in the nuclear reactor. I cut a strand of hair and fed it to the Gene Forecaster, which calculated my expiry date as 2052; the 3D printout, when opened and eaten, left the message "YOU ARE HEADING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION", which was most reassuring.
The right direction was towards the Water Clock (which I consider equal to the Orloje of Prague). After the half-hourly mechanically marvellous display, we went to eat in the excellent restaurant with its view of the waves. The only disappointment was that the Micro Bandstand wasn't in use.
Dorkbot Anglia Two will be on Thursday 16 September at Snape Maltings, Suffolk, IP17 1SP.
I probably shan't be in England for it. Please go in my stead.
Friday, June 25, 2010
A sorry tail
The half-grown lizard who lives behind the shutters of the window next to my computer-table is looking very unhappy. And tail-less. I hope it recovers quickly.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Fête de la Musique
The Fête de la Musique is actually on 21 June, but as it fell on a Monday this year, many places had their celebrations on Sunday. The Arc en Ciel choir sang in a park in Jarnac-Champagne, next to a lovely little lake which helped the sound.
I missed Monday's rehearsal to go to the Fête de la Musique celebration in St Dizant's picnic area next to the little supermarket 1000 Frais et 1 Fred. Music was provided by Les Filadiers, the chantey group from St-Fort-sur-Gironde. The weather was still not good, but at least it didn't rain into the paella.
On the subject of paella, I'm allergic to shellfish so I'd phoned and asked if there was an alternative, to which the answer was no (they were catering for a huge crowd!) but Fred said the shellfish was being added at the end and she'd take out a plateful before the mussels and langoustines and giant prawns went in. Very kind of her, and I was pleased that she remembered in all the flurry.
I warbled along to all the chants marins, in vocalise because I didn't know the words, and eventually E-from-the-Welsh-valleys joined in. We finished the evening with M-f-t-W-v leading Cyfri'r Geifr, and E and I realising we couldn't remember the words of Calon Lân after the first two lines. A very jolly evening.
I missed Monday's rehearsal to go to the Fête de la Musique celebration in St Dizant's picnic area next to the little supermarket 1000 Frais et 1 Fred. Music was provided by Les Filadiers, the chantey group from St-Fort-sur-Gironde. The weather was still not good, but at least it didn't rain into the paella.
On the subject of paella, I'm allergic to shellfish so I'd phoned and asked if there was an alternative, to which the answer was no (they were catering for a huge crowd!) but Fred said the shellfish was being added at the end and she'd take out a plateful before the mussels and langoustines and giant prawns went in. Very kind of her, and I was pleased that she remembered in all the flurry.
I warbled along to all the chants marins, in vocalise because I didn't know the words, and eventually E-from-the-Welsh-valleys joined in. We finished the evening with M-f-t-W-v leading Cyfri'r Geifr, and E and I realising we couldn't remember the words of Calon Lân after the first two lines. A very jolly evening.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
La Daugaterie again
It was so hot on Saturday. In the morning I went to watch boats in the sailing festival at Port Maubert, but didn't last long there. On the way home over the marshes I passed the crêperie at Daugaterie and decided to stop for a cool drink. In the end I stayed for lunch, because their new 10-euro menu includes the drink, a galette (Breton, not Charentaise), and three scoops of ice-cream. How could I resist?
Last year was their first, and it appears to have been successful enough to allow Monsieur to leave his office job, so this year the restaurant is open every evening and most lunchtimes. He has spent the winter completing renovations and making alterations: notably the addition of a ramp and a new toilet, though he hasn't finished the path to the toilet yet. He assured me that it will soon have a properly Chariot-friendly entrance.
To ensure that guests are heard on arrival, there is also a new doorman. Monsieur recognised me and greeted me in English, and I replied in French. It seems more natural to me now.
The menu is much the same as last year, and excellent value. Look at the size of the galette!
There's a garden with trees, and a play area for children, too. I sat outside on the terrace under the gentle shade, though all the other diners had the sense to go inside. I looked in, but forgot to take a photo of the lovely stone-walled dining-room.
We had some brief unscheduled entertainment when a queen hornet popped in for a visit. Monsieur chased it round the garden with a large container of insecticidal spray, to which it appeared impervious.
Then I drove slowly home in the sleepy afternoon heat, watching for herons and other wildlife on the marsh.
Last year was their first, and it appears to have been successful enough to allow Monsieur to leave his office job, so this year the restaurant is open every evening and most lunchtimes. He has spent the winter completing renovations and making alterations: notably the addition of a ramp and a new toilet, though he hasn't finished the path to the toilet yet. He assured me that it will soon have a properly Chariot-friendly entrance.
To ensure that guests are heard on arrival, there is also a new doorman. Monsieur recognised me and greeted me in English, and I replied in French. It seems more natural to me now.
The menu is much the same as last year, and excellent value. Look at the size of the galette!
There's a garden with trees, and a play area for children, too. I sat outside on the terrace under the gentle shade, though all the other diners had the sense to go inside. I looked in, but forgot to take a photo of the lovely stone-walled dining-room.
We had some brief unscheduled entertainment when a queen hornet popped in for a visit. Monsieur chased it round the garden with a large container of insecticidal spray, to which it appeared impervious.
Then I drove slowly home in the sleepy afternoon heat, watching for herons and other wildlife on the marsh.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Sun and frolics
Summer activities have begun. Tomorrow there's a regatta at Port Maubert, on Sunday a regional festival at Clion; the Musical Thursdays (classical concerts in churches) started this week. Everything in Jonzac is open and busy with events and tours and talks and bands in the streets. There are brocantes and street fairs all over the place: even our little hamlet is holding a street party.
Soon it will be la Fête de la Musique and I shall miss all the local musicking because my choir, Arc en Ciel, has gigs in Jarnac-Champagne. Super!
Soon it will be la Fête de la Musique and I shall miss all the local musicking because my choir, Arc en Ciel, has gigs in Jarnac-Champagne. Super!
Monday, May 31, 2010
You can now pass the salt cedar
The Dreaded Tamarisk (aka salt-cedar, a vigorous weed of a tree) has been trimmed down so that it is no longer a danger to traffic in the lane.
M'neighbour Denis cut the branches with an enormous evil-looking machete, and he did much of it by climbing into the tree and hacking from the inside. I couldn't watch and am very relieved that it is over. He's a tough old bird, but I'm nervous about watching people climbing around with sharp implements even if they aren't in their late 80s. Anyway, he did a lovely job.
M'neighbour Denis cut the branches with an enormous evil-looking machete, and he did much of it by climbing into the tree and hacking from the inside. I couldn't watch and am very relieved that it is over. He's a tough old bird, but I'm nervous about watching people climbing around with sharp implements even if they aren't in their late 80s. Anyway, he did a lovely job.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Tunnels
I wonder if Timeteam would come to France?
The limestone of this area has many natural caves, some of which were inhabited millennia ago. In medieval times they were extended for storage, or refuge during times of war, but a few were used as tunnels connecting the big houses and châteaux.
Ginette has been to look at the "souterrain" (cavern or tunnel) which runs under the south-east of Le Rivalard. There is an opening into it from the Magisters' house (now uninhabited); it's very deep and in poor condition, but one can see into it when the sun is setting. I would love to see it but she says it's full of, and surrounded by, rubbish and there's no path for Chariot. She was told about the souterrain many years ago by her sister-in-law, but there was no way of getting to it while the house was lived in. Now that it's empty and some of the old agricultural junk has been removed, the opening is visible: she is very excited that the story is true. It appears to be a genuine tunnel, with straight walls heading directly under her house.
She thinks that the tunnel connected the Château Bardine (now a ruin) and the Château de Beaulon or perhaps the mansion at Les Justices, and possibly went as far as Château du Tirac. However, both Beaulon and Bardine are well to the north of Le Rivalard, so perhaps there is a whole network of tunnels like those under St-Fort-sur-Gironde, 6 miles away, and Floirac.
There doesn't seem to be much written history of this area, apart from the records of the Château de Beaulon, and the people who know are dying out. Hm, a project...
The limestone of this area has many natural caves, some of which were inhabited millennia ago. In medieval times they were extended for storage, or refuge during times of war, but a few were used as tunnels connecting the big houses and châteaux.
Ginette has been to look at the "souterrain" (cavern or tunnel) which runs under the south-east of Le Rivalard. There is an opening into it from the Magisters' house (now uninhabited); it's very deep and in poor condition, but one can see into it when the sun is setting. I would love to see it but she says it's full of, and surrounded by, rubbish and there's no path for Chariot. She was told about the souterrain many years ago by her sister-in-law, but there was no way of getting to it while the house was lived in. Now that it's empty and some of the old agricultural junk has been removed, the opening is visible: she is very excited that the story is true. It appears to be a genuine tunnel, with straight walls heading directly under her house.
She thinks that the tunnel connected the Château Bardine (now a ruin) and the Château de Beaulon or perhaps the mansion at Les Justices, and possibly went as far as Château du Tirac. However, both Beaulon and Bardine are well to the north of Le Rivalard, so perhaps there is a whole network of tunnels like those under St-Fort-sur-Gironde, 6 miles away, and Floirac.
There doesn't seem to be much written history of this area, apart from the records of the Château de Beaulon, and the people who know are dying out. Hm, a project...
Monday, May 17, 2010
Lizards and replantings
The geckos are out! I'm not sure how many because they appear one at a time, running from left to right across the windowsill. Perhaps it is finally summer.
I've been cutting roses from the big bush in the pot by the door, to reduce it: it's so top-heavy that it might fall over - twice as big as it was last year. It really should be in the ground rather than a pot, but I don't know if it's possible to replant it.
Another thing which needs replanting is the cotoneaster between the Alexandra roses and the eastern wall. It's in an awkward place, not even against the wall but stuck out in the route from the summer kitchen to the garage. I don't like cotoneasters much anyway - I wonder if someone would like to give it a home?
I've been cutting roses from the big bush in the pot by the door, to reduce it: it's so top-heavy that it might fall over - twice as big as it was last year. It really should be in the ground rather than a pot, but I don't know if it's possible to replant it.
Another thing which needs replanting is the cotoneaster between the Alexandra roses and the eastern wall. It's in an awkward place, not even against the wall but stuck out in the route from the summer kitchen to the garage. I don't like cotoneasters much anyway - I wonder if someone would like to give it a home?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Two days and nights in Prague
Prague was alternately very pretty and rather depressing. The touristy areas are lovely; around them are banks and offices which are much the same as banks and offices anywhere, but between those are scruffy narrow streets inhabited by depressed-looking people smoking cheap cigarettes. Typical city, I suppose.
Easter celebrations were over and the market was being taken down when I arrived, so all I saw was the ribbon-decorated tree. It wasn't full tourist season but there were quite a few, and school groups everywhere.
The hotel was comfortable and the staff very friendly and helpful. Broomstick picked up a drawing-pin and lost all the air from one tyre; I asked at reception if there was a bike-repair place nearby and was told not to worry: the hotel technician would fix it. He did a perfect job, and it's still going.
I saw a direction sign for a museum and followed it, but couldn't find the museum, though I did see plenty of trams and made a surreptitious detour through the archway of interesting old building which looked like an art centre: I was shooed out of it before I could find out what it was (to my shame I hadn't learned more than two words of Czech before getting into the country!). So I went window-shopping and didn't buy anything, mainly because the most interesting things in the shops were crystal and garnets and amber. I love all of those, but the crystal might not have survived the journey and I really don't need any jewellery. Really. Anyway, this trip was already expensive enough, but if/when I go back to Prague I'll get some crystal for my daughter.
There are many small concerts all over the city, and I was slightly tempted, but having spent a week making music I didn't feel a need to sit and listen to other people doing it (of course, if I'd found a session, that would have been different). The jazz band playing next to the vintage cars (for tourist-trips) was too good to pass, though.
As well as vintage cars, there are horse-carriages in which to ride around the city. All those cobbles must be dreadful for the horses: they slip even though they wear special clogs over their shoes. I've never seen horses in high heels before.
Old Prague is beautifully looked after and very full of camera-clicking: I didn't bother taking my camera out, thinking there will be better photos on the web, so the snaps are from the less-good mobile phone. As well as the hordes of young students on school-trips, mainly from Germany, there were some Brits who had planned around the school holidays, and quite a few others, enough to fill the night market. A troupe of football supporters passed by, waving scarves and shouting rather aggressively, followed by an almost equal number of police who were looking relaxed and chatting happily.
My favourite construction was the old Charles Bridge (well of course, it's a bridge!)
I had lunch in the Orloje (clock) cafe which is right next to the clock so it has a good view of what happens on the hour. Not quite as impressive as Rouen, I think, but amusing all the same. And of course there was Cake.
Easter celebrations were over and the market was being taken down when I arrived, so all I saw was the ribbon-decorated tree. It wasn't full tourist season but there were quite a few, and school groups everywhere.
The hotel was comfortable and the staff very friendly and helpful. Broomstick picked up a drawing-pin and lost all the air from one tyre; I asked at reception if there was a bike-repair place nearby and was told not to worry: the hotel technician would fix it. He did a perfect job, and it's still going.
I saw a direction sign for a museum and followed it, but couldn't find the museum, though I did see plenty of trams and made a surreptitious detour through the archway of interesting old building which looked like an art centre: I was shooed out of it before I could find out what it was (to my shame I hadn't learned more than two words of Czech before getting into the country!). So I went window-shopping and didn't buy anything, mainly because the most interesting things in the shops were crystal and garnets and amber. I love all of those, but the crystal might not have survived the journey and I really don't need any jewellery. Really. Anyway, this trip was already expensive enough, but if/when I go back to Prague I'll get some crystal for my daughter.
There are many small concerts all over the city, and I was slightly tempted, but having spent a week making music I didn't feel a need to sit and listen to other people doing it (of course, if I'd found a session, that would have been different). The jazz band playing next to the vintage cars (for tourist-trips) was too good to pass, though.
As well as vintage cars, there are horse-carriages in which to ride around the city. All those cobbles must be dreadful for the horses: they slip even though they wear special clogs over their shoes. I've never seen horses in high heels before.
Old Prague is beautifully looked after and very full of camera-clicking: I didn't bother taking my camera out, thinking there will be better photos on the web, so the snaps are from the less-good mobile phone. As well as the hordes of young students on school-trips, mainly from Germany, there were some Brits who had planned around the school holidays, and quite a few others, enough to fill the night market. A troupe of football supporters passed by, waving scarves and shouting rather aggressively, followed by an almost equal number of police who were looking relaxed and chatting happily.
My favourite construction was the old Charles Bridge (well of course, it's a bridge!)
I had lunch in the Orloje (clock) cafe which is right next to the clock so it has a good view of what happens on the hour. Not quite as impressive as Rouen, I think, but amusing all the same. And of course there was Cake.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Buildings of Görlitz, sorrow of Poland, south towards Prague
I was sad to leave the music and HMV, but excited at the thought of my first visit to Prague.
Monica advised me to detour to Görlitz on the way to Prague. It didn't get bombed, and Monica told me that the people there liked their Jews and protected them, so not even the synagogue was damaged (Monica has plans for that synagogue). However, the inhabitants have been just as assiduous as Dresdeners in renovating their elegant buildings, and the city is a wonderful sight.
Görlitz is on the Polish border, so I drove over the river into Zgorzelec, which though it is only on the other side of a narrow stretch of water is a different, less affluent and rather depressed town. The main roads at frontiers have signs about national speedlimits; this one has a sign in three languages. In English of a sort it instructed me to keep DAYLIGHTS on at all times. I'm not sure what daylights are, and decided headlights on dipped beam are the most likely. Cue my usual rant about translations in the wrong direction. In this area there are probably fewer English-speakers to ask, but perhaps it's an American term.
I stopped for lunch at a cafe which was sadly empty and had the news running on the radio. Though I only know one word of Polish, the topic was clearly the return of the bodies of the government leaders who had died in the plane crash. The staff and few customers were sombre but didn't seem terribly upset. Perhaps they are far from the hysterical cities and less concerned about the inevitable political changes.
Getting food was interesting, unprepared as I was for a visit to Poland. I had no idea of the exchange rate. The menu showed photos of the main dishes, which helped a little, but I still didn't know what the protein ingredient was as they all seemed to be frittered. In the end I flapped my arms and made a noise like a chicken, which successfully ordered a lightly-spiced chicken breast in breadcrumbs with sauteed potatoes and salad. Nicely cooked and very tasty. The tea was excellent, served with lemon. When it came to paying, there was a momentary panic: the waitress refused the card! And I only had a 5-grozny piece once acquired in change and kept in the car for no particular reason. When she accepted euros, I realised why no card: the bill came to less than 7 euros.
The road south follows a small river with fields on each side. Along the bank at intervals there are poles stuck in the ground: those on this side are painted in red and white stripes and on the opposite bank they are red, black, and yellow. The river is narrow enough for a strong long-jumper to leap, and would be easy to swim. To someone who has always lived near the sea, land frontiers seem very artificial and curiously silly.
The road wandered through another small patch of Germany before entering the Czech Republic, each time passing the deserted remains of frontier guard-houses, creating a strangely mixed feeling of ominous echoes and hope. In contrast, the landscape was utterly lovely: forested and mountainous and serene.
Monica advised me to detour to Görlitz on the way to Prague. It didn't get bombed, and Monica told me that the people there liked their Jews and protected them, so not even the synagogue was damaged (Monica has plans for that synagogue). However, the inhabitants have been just as assiduous as Dresdeners in renovating their elegant buildings, and the city is a wonderful sight.
Görlitz is on the Polish border, so I drove over the river into Zgorzelec, which though it is only on the other side of a narrow stretch of water is a different, less affluent and rather depressed town. The main roads at frontiers have signs about national speedlimits; this one has a sign in three languages. In English of a sort it instructed me to keep DAYLIGHTS on at all times. I'm not sure what daylights are, and decided headlights on dipped beam are the most likely. Cue my usual rant about translations in the wrong direction. In this area there are probably fewer English-speakers to ask, but perhaps it's an American term.
I stopped for lunch at a cafe which was sadly empty and had the news running on the radio. Though I only know one word of Polish, the topic was clearly the return of the bodies of the government leaders who had died in the plane crash. The staff and few customers were sombre but didn't seem terribly upset. Perhaps they are far from the hysterical cities and less concerned about the inevitable political changes.
Getting food was interesting, unprepared as I was for a visit to Poland. I had no idea of the exchange rate. The menu showed photos of the main dishes, which helped a little, but I still didn't know what the protein ingredient was as they all seemed to be frittered. In the end I flapped my arms and made a noise like a chicken, which successfully ordered a lightly-spiced chicken breast in breadcrumbs with sauteed potatoes and salad. Nicely cooked and very tasty. The tea was excellent, served with lemon. When it came to paying, there was a momentary panic: the waitress refused the card! And I only had a 5-grozny piece once acquired in change and kept in the car for no particular reason. When she accepted euros, I realised why no card: the bill came to less than 7 euros.
The road south follows a small river with fields on each side. Along the bank at intervals there are poles stuck in the ground: those on this side are painted in red and white stripes and on the opposite bank they are red, black, and yellow. The river is narrow enough for a strong long-jumper to leap, and would be easy to swim. To someone who has always lived near the sea, land frontiers seem very artificial and curiously silly.
The road wandered through another small patch of Germany before entering the Czech Republic, each time passing the deserted remains of frontier guard-houses, creating a strangely mixed feeling of ominous echoes and hope. In contrast, the landscape was utterly lovely: forested and mountainous and serene.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Dresden, music, friends
I drove right through Dresden to get to the Brücke-Most Zentrum where the singing workshops were being held and the singers were staying. Fortunately the traffic was slow and there are plenty of traffic lights, so I could look around. Cobbled roads are not pleasant with narrow tyres. Poor Bloo bounced around like a cat on tacks.
The houses are fascinating: each one is a slightly different shape, and the colours of the walls are many and varied. Some are villas; some look like minor castles. Many of them have added pieces on the corners, as if bay fronts had migrated to the sides. Of course, most of Dresden was destroyed in retaliation for the bombing of Coventry; now they are twin towns. One can't help thinking that, in the end, Dresden has been more fortunate in not being able to rebuild until more recently. Coventry suffered from the post-war backlash against history, whereas Dresden is being restored. There are modern blocks of flats too, but it's wonderful to see once-lost buildings such as the Frauenkirche rise anew.
The Brücke-Most Zentrum is often used for music projects, and boasts not only a grand piano in the Art Deco sitting-room, but a harpsichord. They'd recently had a project on the experiences of Jews in the Dresden and Czech border area, producing a set of photographs with attached stories which were both saddening and uplifting.
As usual, the music ranged the centuries and included pieces related to where we were, in this case by Czech composers. Martinu lived for some time in Basel where he was very homesick, and his memories of Czech folksongs resulted in the composition of a set of "madrigals" which are lovely. Unfortunately Monica had only been able to get the sheet music with a German translation which, as she said, demonstrated why one should always sing a text in the original language. We also had two songs by Dvorak in Czech, which was a first for me and actually easier to sing than German.
Each morning was entirely taken up with singing, and a couple of hours in the afternoon or evening as well, but there was free time to spend with HMV who came to stay for three days. She toured the city while I was rehearsing, and then we wandered around (talking all the time) and ate cake in a different place every day. We also sampled chocolate at a chocolatier's, where there was a remarkable display including a plaster hat with chocolate decorations of ribbons and roses! Several times we went out with some of the other singers, English people who live in Basel; on one of the trips we found a lovely cafe with a terrace by the river and an attractive range of cakes. Sadly we didn't taste the cake, because after about half an hour of trying to get service from three staff who didn't seem to be doing much, we left and went instead to the cafe-bakery across the road. The view there wasn't so good but the service was excellent and so was the cake.
It being just after Easter, many smaller trees were hung with painted eggs; so was the fountain outside the church in Bad Schandau where we performed a small concert on Saturday. Bad Schandau has experienced serious flooding over the centuries, but as with the Gironde it's happening more frequently now. The worst was in 2002: there are photographs of the flooded town decorating church and restaurants and offices all over the town.
Sometime I shall upload a few photos.
The houses are fascinating: each one is a slightly different shape, and the colours of the walls are many and varied. Some are villas; some look like minor castles. Many of them have added pieces on the corners, as if bay fronts had migrated to the sides. Of course, most of Dresden was destroyed in retaliation for the bombing of Coventry; now they are twin towns. One can't help thinking that, in the end, Dresden has been more fortunate in not being able to rebuild until more recently. Coventry suffered from the post-war backlash against history, whereas Dresden is being restored. There are modern blocks of flats too, but it's wonderful to see once-lost buildings such as the Frauenkirche rise anew.
The Brücke-Most Zentrum is often used for music projects, and boasts not only a grand piano in the Art Deco sitting-room, but a harpsichord. They'd recently had a project on the experiences of Jews in the Dresden and Czech border area, producing a set of photographs with attached stories which were both saddening and uplifting.
As usual, the music ranged the centuries and included pieces related to where we were, in this case by Czech composers. Martinu lived for some time in Basel where he was very homesick, and his memories of Czech folksongs resulted in the composition of a set of "madrigals" which are lovely. Unfortunately Monica had only been able to get the sheet music with a German translation which, as she said, demonstrated why one should always sing a text in the original language. We also had two songs by Dvorak in Czech, which was a first for me and actually easier to sing than German.
Each morning was entirely taken up with singing, and a couple of hours in the afternoon or evening as well, but there was free time to spend with HMV who came to stay for three days. She toured the city while I was rehearsing, and then we wandered around (talking all the time) and ate cake in a different place every day. We also sampled chocolate at a chocolatier's, where there was a remarkable display including a plaster hat with chocolate decorations of ribbons and roses! Several times we went out with some of the other singers, English people who live in Basel; on one of the trips we found a lovely cafe with a terrace by the river and an attractive range of cakes. Sadly we didn't taste the cake, because after about half an hour of trying to get service from three staff who didn't seem to be doing much, we left and went instead to the cafe-bakery across the road. The view there wasn't so good but the service was excellent and so was the cake.
It being just after Easter, many smaller trees were hung with painted eggs; so was the fountain outside the church in Bad Schandau where we performed a small concert on Saturday. Bad Schandau has experienced serious flooding over the centuries, but as with the Gironde it's happening more frequently now. The worst was in 2002: there are photographs of the flooded town decorating church and restaurants and offices all over the town.
Sometime I shall upload a few photos.
Friday, April 09, 2010
East to Dresden
The route east from Hofheim goes via Frankfurt's maze of autobahns, so for a while I saw only roadsigns and cars.
On through Germany, and past a terrain of steeply rounded hills, many of them with a castle on top, glaring across the valley at its neighbours. Lunch was in a roadside restaurant where I'd intended to have just a snack but was pounced on by a lovely friendly counter-staffperson who turned waiter and happily explained what was in in each dish. Besides, the food smelled wonderful and was surprisingly cheap.
I didn't find a wheelchair-accessible hotel on the road near Dresden, and stayed in the car. It was cold. Early in the morning I drove on and soon saw a restaurant next to a wheelchair-friendly motel: if only I'd known! Breakfast there was 4.80 euros for two half-somethings of bread with a choice of toppings, a boiled egg, orange juice and coffee - a bargain.
On through Germany, and past a terrain of steeply rounded hills, many of them with a castle on top, glaring across the valley at its neighbours. Lunch was in a roadside restaurant where I'd intended to have just a snack but was pounced on by a lovely friendly counter-staffperson who turned waiter and happily explained what was in in each dish. Besides, the food smelled wonderful and was surprisingly cheap.
I didn't find a wheelchair-accessible hotel on the road near Dresden, and stayed in the car. It was cold. Early in the morning I drove on and soon saw a restaurant next to a wheelchair-friendly motel: if only I'd known! Breakfast there was 4.80 euros for two half-somethings of bread with a choice of toppings, a boiled egg, orange juice and coffee - a bargain.
Morning in the Haus der Andacht
The road to the Haus der Andacht goes through a large though pleasant suburban housing estate, so it's quite a contrast when one arrives there to see the gardens and the calm building with a view of the mountains. The exterior isn't as pretty or ornate as some other Houses of Worship, but inside is so light: it glows with peace. The dome of a House of Worship has such an amazing effect on the feel and sound of the interior.
After spending a while inside, I went to the other building - reception, library/bookshop, and offices. People had arrived from various parts of the world (mainly Europe, of course) including a Czech couple who visit every two months. We were all offered tea and very good biscuits, and I acquired a few books.
After spending a while inside, I went to the other building - reception, library/bookshop, and offices. People had arrived from various parts of the world (mainly Europe, of course) including a Czech couple who visit every two months. We were all offered tea and very good biscuits, and I acquired a few books.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Road-ghosts
The road-ghosts appear after Montluçon. Those around Montluçon stand upright with a jagged flash running down through the head; further east and north the images have a hanging head: such simple designs, but clearly portraying dead bodies with a powerful effect of dejection, mourning and despair. In daylight they are disturbing; at night they are frightening. I wonder if their impact is the one intended. Boy racers probably don't even give them a glance. Those of delicate sensibilities, seeing the images loom suddenly in the headlights, are more likely to be shocked into coming off the road.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Through France to Germany
This spring the Monica Buckland singing week(end) is in Dresden. It's my first visit to Dresden, or indeed to that side of Germany. Though I tried hard to book train tickets, the system defeated me. I can do French trains, but I couldn't understand how to book wheelchair space on the German-run night train from Paris. It involves a call-centre. 'nuff said, sadly.
Anyway, if I had to drive I was going to make it more than just Dresden, so the plan was to tour a pretty part of the mountains in eastern France and visit the Baha'i Haus der Andacht in Langenhain-Hofheim near Frankfurt.
It was fortunate I'd decided to book a room in Chalon sur Saône rather than Besançon, because the rain and spray made the last part of the journey very slow and very tiring. Also, I'd not taken into account how early it goes dark this far east. The hotel Première Classe was fairly cheap, adequately kitted (though no showergel and drinks only from a vending machine), clean, warm, with a very cheap breakfast but no wifi. This was a good thing because I went to sleep instead of messing about online.
Today I wandered off the motorway via Baume les Dames along the Doubs river, among the mountains, in bright sunshine. The river is very high, and was making a lovely noise over the weirs. On the route north-east of Besançon, as you enter Alsace, there is a big sign marking the frontier between the North Sea and the Mediterranean, which caused a "what?! oh, yes" moment.
I planned to go further north on the western side of the Rhine and cross at Strasbourg, because the scenery is prettier and it meant spending longer where I can read the signs and talk to people. However, ViaMichelin and Google wanted me to go up the east side, and when GarminBot started pestering for it too, I gave in and headed for Freiburg. This meant I passed by the dam and HEP plant near Marckolsheim, which is decorated with nekkid ladies pretending to be Rhinemaidens. Apart from the dam the scenery was indeed rather boring, and the Autobahn much more crowded than French Autoroutes. This crowdedness was probably the reason for an extremely tedious and delaying set of blockages in roadworks: it was so like UK that I had to check whether to be on the left or right. The driving is generally quite neat though very fast and far too close together. I thought that with the 100mph vrooming, fuel must be cheaper than France, hence was shocked to be charged 1.53 euros per litre for petrol.
Eventually I arrived in the Taunus after dark and got very lost. Most of the time GarminBot was lost too. Now I'm tucked up in the Ramada which was the only hotel I could find without steps: it's not a bad price for the room, but I shan't be eating here! The wifi is also rather expensive, but I succumbed.
Anyway, if I had to drive I was going to make it more than just Dresden, so the plan was to tour a pretty part of the mountains in eastern France and visit the Baha'i Haus der Andacht in Langenhain-Hofheim near Frankfurt.
It was fortunate I'd decided to book a room in Chalon sur Saône rather than Besançon, because the rain and spray made the last part of the journey very slow and very tiring. Also, I'd not taken into account how early it goes dark this far east. The hotel Première Classe was fairly cheap, adequately kitted (though no showergel and drinks only from a vending machine), clean, warm, with a very cheap breakfast but no wifi. This was a good thing because I went to sleep instead of messing about online.
Today I wandered off the motorway via Baume les Dames along the Doubs river, among the mountains, in bright sunshine. The river is very high, and was making a lovely noise over the weirs. On the route north-east of Besançon, as you enter Alsace, there is a big sign marking the frontier between the North Sea and the Mediterranean, which caused a "what?! oh, yes" moment.
I planned to go further north on the western side of the Rhine and cross at Strasbourg, because the scenery is prettier and it meant spending longer where I can read the signs and talk to people. However, ViaMichelin and Google wanted me to go up the east side, and when GarminBot started pestering for it too, I gave in and headed for Freiburg. This meant I passed by the dam and HEP plant near Marckolsheim, which is decorated with nekkid ladies pretending to be Rhinemaidens. Apart from the dam the scenery was indeed rather boring, and the Autobahn much more crowded than French Autoroutes. This crowdedness was probably the reason for an extremely tedious and delaying set of blockages in roadworks: it was so like UK that I had to check whether to be on the left or right. The driving is generally quite neat though very fast and far too close together. I thought that with the 100mph vrooming, fuel must be cheaper than France, hence was shocked to be charged 1.53 euros per litre for petrol.
Eventually I arrived in the Taunus after dark and got very lost. Most of the time GarminBot was lost too. Now I'm tucked up in the Ramada which was the only hotel I could find without steps: it's not a bad price for the room, but I shan't be eating here! The wifi is also rather expensive, but I succumbed.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Raining like it was England
Yesterday it was very windy.
Today it rains.
Where is Summer?
Yesterday was another very high tide, along with the wind. There has been work on strengthening and raising dykes since Xynthia, and as far as I know there were no big disasters.
Christian the butcher, in his shop at the gate, was discussing the unusually miserable weather. I mentioned driving to Dresden next week to sing with the marvellous Monica Buckland: he said I'm going in the wrong direction for the sun, and I should re-plan the trip. Then he asked how the weather is in England, where I shall be going next. Apparently it's snowing again there.
Well, the weather in Dresden may be cool but the welcome of the other singers will be warm, and the music will be magnificent.
Today it rains.
Where is Summer?
Yesterday was another very high tide, along with the wind. There has been work on strengthening and raising dykes since Xynthia, and as far as I know there were no big disasters.
Christian the butcher, in his shop at the gate, was discussing the unusually miserable weather. I mentioned driving to Dresden next week to sing with the marvellous Monica Buckland: he said I'm going in the wrong direction for the sun, and I should re-plan the trip. Then he asked how the weather is in England, where I shall be going next. Apparently it's snowing again there.
Well, the weather in Dresden may be cool but the welcome of the other singers will be warm, and the music will be magnificent.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Singing in Saint-Maurice-de-Tavernole
Saturday's Arc en Ciel concert (pre-gig report here) was in an interesting venue: the church of Saint-Maurice-de-Tavernole, a very small town east of Jonzac. The church was demolished in the big storm of 1999 and rebuilt in the same style, so it looks like a very spruce medieval building, much as it might have appeared when first constructed except for the beautifully-coloured frescos which are decidedly modern post-impressionist. Unfortunately I didn't have a camera and can't find any photos online. It's a simple rectangular shape in the same kind of stone as my house, but with white rendering, beautiful deep arched windows with stained glass, and a dinky square bell-tower. The interior is how I imagine the Atelier would look (minus frescos unless perhaps we run a painting workshop), if I can afford to have it done.
The town has about 100 inhabitants; there were about 80 people in the audience. So different from the turn-out for a small-town English concert! They were enthusiastic, too, but we only sang one encore.
Mauricette, a soprano who comes from Oléron area hit by Xynthia, managed to organise a collection for the oyster...um, what is the word in English... anyway, the oysters weren't affected but the ostréiculteurs lost their boats and equipment in the storm and high tide. After the concert the mayor of the little seaside town to which the money is being donated gave an almost tearful speech, and people signed concert flyers with encouraging messages to go to the ostréiculteurs. I've done fund-raising gigs many times, but this was curiously immediate.
The wine and cake partying was still going when the three of us from St Genis/Lorignac/St Dizant left.
The town has about 100 inhabitants; there were about 80 people in the audience. So different from the turn-out for a small-town English concert! They were enthusiastic, too, but we only sang one encore.
Mauricette, a soprano who comes from Oléron area hit by Xynthia, managed to organise a collection for the oyster...um, what is the word in English... anyway, the oysters weren't affected but the ostréiculteurs lost their boats and equipment in the storm and high tide. After the concert the mayor of the little seaside town to which the money is being donated gave an almost tearful speech, and people signed concert flyers with encouraging messages to go to the ostréiculteurs. I've done fund-raising gigs many times, but this was curiously immediate.
The wine and cake partying was still going when the three of us from St Genis/Lorignac/St Dizant left.
Monday, March 22, 2010
At last!
Woken just after 7 by the birds doing a full-chorus Hymn to the Sun. At 8:30 was hanging out the washing in warm sunshine. Sky is fierce blue. All windows are open (I warily listen for the approach of loud buzzing). Nectarine blossom is bursting, wildflowers bright everywhere and the grass is a foot higher than it was yesterday.
Here comes summer.
Here comes summer.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Checking the Estuary
The little ports are looking a bit muddy and bedraggled and some houses had recent repairs to the roofs, but there didn't seem to be too much damage. Around here the houses are mostly out of reach of the highest tides. However, at the Port du Charon where my favourite carrelets (fishing huts on stilts) are... well, they are no longer. Only the ancient one that reminds me of the Flying Dutchman is still much the same; most of the others are reduced to poles sticking out of the mud. The newly-painted one with the curtains is completely gone; the one where we watched the the fisherman pull his lunch out of the sea and slap it on a barbecue is still there in part, looking very sad.
Even the area where I usually park is no longer usable because its sheltering stone wall is scattered around. Two disconsolate fisherman were wandering around it, examining the wrecks and reporting on a mobile. By the end of the call they seemed to gather some energy and purpose and stomped off in a determined fashion, giving me hope that the huts will rise anew very soon.
Even the area where I usually park is no longer usable because its sheltering stone wall is scattered around. Two disconsolate fisherman were wandering around it, examining the wrecks and reporting on a mobile. By the end of the call they seemed to gather some energy and purpose and stomped off in a determined fashion, giving me hope that the huts will rise anew very soon.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Buzzing, blooming, warbling
At last Spring is etcetera, tra-la. In the bright sunlight the land looks strangely drab without its usual March display of leaf and blossom, but no doubt it will rush to catch up.
It's warm outside, bees are getting into the house, and it's almost time to look for mosquito-nets. Birds are warbling their nesting-songs; the redstarts are back on the terrace shouting "Get Orf Moy Lahnd!" every time I go into the kitchen.
A snake has sloughed by the steps outside my bedroom.
It's warm outside, bees are getting into the house, and it's almost time to look for mosquito-nets. Birds are warbling their nesting-songs; the redstarts are back on the terrace shouting "Get Orf Moy Lahnd!" every time I go into the kitchen.
A snake has sloughed by the steps outside my bedroom.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Ipswich to Newcastle, the wet route
I'm a fan of the Curiosity Collective, and am happily followiing their adventures in walking from Ipswich to the Maker Faire via the Netherlands. Google does love its ferry routes.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Stars and sea
Last night was cold again, though unlike the south-east there was no snow. The sky was completely clear. On the way home from rehearsal I stopped the car in the vineyards and turned off the lights, to look at the mass of stars without getting frozen.
On Sunday Ginette went to Port Maubert (5 miles away) to see how the flood is receding. This stretch of coast didn't get into the tv reports because no-one died, but the water came right up into the houses. It wasn't so serious here, as there are no houses right on the sea's edge. The marsh was completely under water, and the roads to the ports were impassable: roads and ports are still being drained.
On Sunday Ginette went to Port Maubert (5 miles away) to see how the flood is receding. This stretch of coast didn't get into the tv reports because no-one died, but the water came right up into the houses. It wasn't so serious here, as there are no houses right on the sea's edge. The marsh was completely under water, and the roads to the ports were impassable: roads and ports are still being drained.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Is that a daffodil I see?
I'm sitting on the front steps and can't see the laptop screen for the bright light. It's warm! It's Spring! The forecast is back-to-winter at the weekend, so I'm not leaving this patch of sunlight until it leaves me.
Rant
There's a lot of discussion on the news reports about the flooding in the Vendee where people drowned.
It seems incomprehensible that sea-marsh should be used for building in an area with so much land (and so many empty houses just inland, both in towns and hamlets). Apparently the mayor was put under pressure by developers - no surprise there - but also by his electorate. People wanted a pretty little villa by the sea. It's not as if they had no choice about where to live.
There will probably be stronger rules and legislation in future so that mayors and planning committees will be supported in refusals. Meanwhile, so many people have died and so many more are still in difficulty, and of course there has been all the risk to those who work in the emergency services. Imagine being out in that storm in a helicopter, trying to rescue people from roofs.
The cost to the country is huge, and next there will be the insurance claims and consequent rise in everyone's premium, so we'll all share a little of the damage. I wonder if there will be any attempt to take back their profits from the developers?
Educating people in better risk assessment wouldn't be a bad plan, either.
It seems incomprehensible that sea-marsh should be used for building in an area with so much land (and so many empty houses just inland, both in towns and hamlets). Apparently the mayor was put under pressure by developers - no surprise there - but also by his electorate. People wanted a pretty little villa by the sea. It's not as if they had no choice about where to live.
There will probably be stronger rules and legislation in future so that mayors and planning committees will be supported in refusals. Meanwhile, so many people have died and so many more are still in difficulty, and of course there has been all the risk to those who work in the emergency services. Imagine being out in that storm in a helicopter, trying to rescue people from roofs.
The cost to the country is huge, and next there will be the insurance claims and consequent rise in everyone's premium, so we'll all share a little of the damage. I wonder if there will be any attempt to take back their profits from the developers?
Educating people in better risk assessment wouldn't be a bad plan, either.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wind, floods, and Ryanair
That was quite a storm[0]. We're alright in Le Rivalard, though power was off for about five hours. Some of the ports are flooded, as it co-incided with a very high tide, and at least one main road is blocked.
While checking the news I noticed that Ryanair are dumping their flights to Angoulême, after only two years. My first reaction was disbelief and regret. The staff at the tiny airport were so keen and helpful, it was a pleasure to go there and so different from the dreadful experience provided by big airports. Without the London route, will they survive?
On the other hand, Ryanair manages to provide a poor experience even from a good airport (they are certainly the worst for wheelchair users). Perhaps a better cheapo airline will take over.
[0] Its name was Xynthia. Rather too pretty a name, methinks.
While checking the news I noticed that Ryanair are dumping their flights to Angoulême, after only two years. My first reaction was disbelief and regret. The staff at the tiny airport were so keen and helpful, it was a pleasure to go there and so different from the dreadful experience provided by big airports. Without the London route, will they survive?
On the other hand, Ryanair manages to provide a poor experience even from a good airport (they are certainly the worst for wheelchair users). Perhaps a better cheapo airline will take over.
[0] Its name was Xynthia. Rather too pretty a name, methinks.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Flash, bang, drench
The first of the spring storms arrived yesterday evening, with winds gusting to 120 km per hour and crashing thunder. It came from the south-west, hitting the side of the house with the most windows, screaming through all the chinks in the shutters and slamming rain onto the walls and roof. At one point the big shutters on the main door were wrenched open. I managed to get them closed, though one of the fastenings is broken. It was very wet out there, but also quite warm - not, however, warm enough to dance in.
There was only one very brief power outage. I kept a torch with me and lit some candles, remembering last year's massive storm and the night without electricity. It wasn't that bad, but I was nervous.
There was only one very brief power outage. I kept a torch with me and lit some candles, remembering last year's massive storm and the night without electricity. It wasn't that bad, but I was nervous.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
From hearth to stove
The fire has eaten rather a lot of wood this winter, for little result except warm roof tiles around the chimney. It was a pity to lose the open fire, but the second-hand Godin woodburner looks much better than expected now it's been cleaned up, and it fits the space very well. Though not a very powerful model, it produces enough heat to warm the kitchen. Now that there isn't a big draught through the salle as air rushes up the chimney, it's warmer in there too. It should also be adequate for simmering stews.
I'm not losing the grate: the plan is to put it up in the rehearsal room, with a hood. Unfortunately the lovely backplate (which is said to have come from a local chateau) is mostly covered by the woodburner. Ah well, it's a small sacrifice to be warm.
I'm not losing the grate: the plan is to put it up in the rehearsal room, with a hood. Unfortunately the lovely backplate (which is said to have come from a local chateau) is mostly covered by the woodburner. Ah well, it's a small sacrifice to be warm.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Back in Charente Maritime
Kent was quite snowy and there were traces of snow on the verges in northern France: the temperature was below zero, so I stayed on the motorway more than usual. With the morning, further south, it became much warmer. I drove through a lot of rain and some sunshine. Finally in Charente Maritime: bright sun and the car thermodisplay reading 13! Garden full of noisy birds, roses and trees in bud.
It's been very cold here, though, and the stone walls had chilled right down. I left the doors open to warm the house a little, until sunset when the clear sky began to let the heat out of the world.
The new pantry shelves look good, and it's amazing how all the heaped clutter is now arranged tidily with plenty of space left for jamjars. The stone walls upstairs are also lovely now that the old cement has gone, and the light-coloured rendering looks so serene.
Downside: stone-dust and sawdust everywhere, which will take days to clean up. I've made a start on clearing a path to the sink and cooker; next will be the job of emptying some ash so I can light the fire. Brendan brought some logs in, which was helpful, but he left all the ash from his fires and the pan is completely full! And then to clean the mould from the fridge: I forgot to put a note on it to say the door needed to be left open. Oops.
Must get the walls warmed before the weekend, because the forecast is cold again.
It's been very cold here, though, and the stone walls had chilled right down. I left the doors open to warm the house a little, until sunset when the clear sky began to let the heat out of the world.
The new pantry shelves look good, and it's amazing how all the heaped clutter is now arranged tidily with plenty of space left for jamjars. The stone walls upstairs are also lovely now that the old cement has gone, and the light-coloured rendering looks so serene.
Downside: stone-dust and sawdust everywhere, which will take days to clean up. I've made a start on clearing a path to the sink and cooker; next will be the job of emptying some ash so I can light the fire. Brendan brought some logs in, which was helpful, but he left all the ash from his fires and the pan is completely full! And then to clean the mould from the fridge: I forgot to put a note on it to say the door needed to be left open. Oops.
Must get the walls warmed before the weekend, because the forecast is cold again.
Friday, February 12, 2010
I love windmills
For the second time this month I drove south on the A12 through Lowestoft. I was previously unimpressed by Lowestoft. I thought it had a rather nasty feel and a very unfortunate appearance. Last week it surprised me; this week I checked carefully... and yes, it was still pretty.
Some of the improvement may be because it looks more open: at some points you can see the sea, and Lowestoft's beaches have always been among the best in the area. Quite a lot was owing to two sights in particular. As you come into the town there is a cleanly gleaming white lighthouse looking like a huge cake decoration. Soon after that, as the road sweeps past the first sight of the waves, there is an even bigger mobile sculpture, moving gracefully and majestically above the barely-noticeable squat stolidity of the port buildings. Beautiful.
Some of the improvement may be because it looks more open: at some points you can see the sea, and Lowestoft's beaches have always been among the best in the area. Quite a lot was owing to two sights in particular. As you come into the town there is a cleanly gleaming white lighthouse looking like a huge cake decoration. Soon after that, as the road sweeps past the first sight of the waves, there is an even bigger mobile sculpture, moving gracefully and majestically above the barely-noticeable squat stolidity of the port buildings. Beautiful.
Trains
The report on Wot Went Wrong with the Eurostar reminds me of the railway journey I took with my ozzie sister in 1999.
For a treat, we booked first-class on the Tilt Train, a super high-speed stylish machine which does the east-coast run from Brisbane to Cairns. The train, especially the first-class carriage, was very plush and done out like an aeroplane - between the films there was a map display showing where we'd got to, though the picture from the cams mounted on the engine was more interesting.
Being February, it was quite warm. A couple of hours up the coast, the power suddenly went off. Everything died: engine, aircon, lights, door controls, the lot. A guard came through, forcing open the door into the carriage, and asked if someone would lend them a mobile phone because the radio was off too, and the driver needed to contact traffic control to stop the train behind us before there was a very nasty accident. Then the train staff went through with crowbars and opened the external doors so we could get some air.
Apparently this had happened several times before, and was caused by the train overheating. Nothing could be done except wait until it cooled and would start again. It was close to 40C, so cooling took a few hours. We shared any food and drink we could find, made fans out of magazines, and hoped the loos would be back in operation soon. The adventurous or desperate climbed down and investigated the spindly bushes.
At least we weren't in a tunnel.
For a treat, we booked first-class on the Tilt Train, a super high-speed stylish machine which does the east-coast run from Brisbane to Cairns. The train, especially the first-class carriage, was very plush and done out like an aeroplane - between the films there was a map display showing where we'd got to, though the picture from the cams mounted on the engine was more interesting.
Being February, it was quite warm. A couple of hours up the coast, the power suddenly went off. Everything died: engine, aircon, lights, door controls, the lot. A guard came through, forcing open the door into the carriage, and asked if someone would lend them a mobile phone because the radio was off too, and the driver needed to contact traffic control to stop the train behind us before there was a very nasty accident. Then the train staff went through with crowbars and opened the external doors so we could get some air.
Apparently this had happened several times before, and was caused by the train overheating. Nothing could be done except wait until it cooled and would start again. It was close to 40C, so cooling took a few hours. We shared any food and drink we could find, made fans out of magazines, and hoped the loos would be back in operation soon. The adventurous or desperate climbed down and investigated the spindly bushes.
At least we weren't in a tunnel.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Snow! More snow!
It's very pretty out there, with sunshine on the snow.
I usually listen to Radio 3 in the car. On long journeys or difficult days the traffic-news-interruption is on, even though they can be quite irritating, especially when they aren't turned off at the end of the report and instead of that delicate and intricate Renaissance piece you have a few moments of aural insult before crossly locating the right buttons.
Today it was the opposite problem. Suffolk Radio's turn-it-off was clearly on a timer: every time the traffic news came on, the long list of roads blocked by jack-knifed lorries and overturned cars got only part-way through before returning me to Radio 3.
I usually listen to Radio 3 in the car. On long journeys or difficult days the traffic-news-interruption is on, even though they can be quite irritating, especially when they aren't turned off at the end of the report and instead of that delicate and intricate Renaissance piece you have a few moments of aural insult before crossly locating the right buttons.
Today it was the opposite problem. Suffolk Radio's turn-it-off was clearly on a timer: every time the traffic news came on, the long list of roads blocked by jack-knifed lorries and overturned cars got only part-way through before returning me to Radio 3.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Sheffield
Sheffield is a curious place: a mix of grand Victoriana and crumbling warehouses, with the usual depressed-town plethora of unused buildings and empty shops between yuppy multi-apartment blocks decorated with huge adverts for the unwanted flats. Lots of student-y things to do and live gigs, but horrible loud muzak in all the shops and cafes. The trams are lovely, though.
Between the buildings you catch glimpses of snowy hills. Where I used to visit some years ago, I was surprised to discover that if you didn't turn right from the front door, but went left up the hill, instead of being amid little houses and scruffy shops and traffic you found yourself on the moors.
In the summer I plan to visit the Town Hall, of which there are free tours (don't know how wheelchair-friendly).
And then, if I come here in December... the Carols in their natural habitat! Provided one can even get into the pubs now that people know about them.
Between the buildings you catch glimpses of snowy hills. Where I used to visit some years ago, I was surprised to discover that if you didn't turn right from the front door, but went left up the hill, instead of being amid little houses and scruffy shops and traffic you found yourself on the moors.
In the summer I plan to visit the Town Hall, of which there are free tours (don't know how wheelchair-friendly).
And then, if I come here in December... the Carols in their natural habitat! Provided one can even get into the pubs now that people know about them.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Cheshire churches and horses
My friend Lesley, who had a background in social history research, got me hooked on following the clues of census and register. I discovered that some of my great-grands came from Cheshire. As I'm currently visiting friends there it was interesting to take a look at the hills and trees and old cottages which they may have known, and more particularly to explore Over St. Chad, the church where my great-great-grandmother and her siblings were baptised and where her mother's family are, presumably, buried. The church itself was locked and all I could do was look at the outside and peer in through some windows, which was a shame because it has some interesting stained glass and lovely arches.
It was cold, so after a little while we went to find somewhere to eat. On the way to Tarporley there was a sign for Cotebrook Shire Horse Centre, complete with cafe. Perfect. Excellent food and lots of animals - we saw horses of course, various birds including huge geese, pigs, and small friendly black sheep which I wanted to take home. It was too cold to go searching for the red squirrels, and the otters weren't out. Next time.
It was cold, so after a little while we went to find somewhere to eat. On the way to Tarporley there was a sign for Cotebrook Shire Horse Centre, complete with cafe. Perfect. Excellent food and lots of animals - we saw horses of course, various birds including huge geese, pigs, and small friendly black sheep which I wanted to take home. It was too cold to go searching for the red squirrels, and the otters weren't out. Next time.
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